


Dean’s Scent

by GayApril16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Instincts, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blankets, Cas doesn’t know what’s happening, Cas ignores that fact though, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel Steals Dean’s Stuff, Castiel in Love (Supernatural), Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel is Bad at Feelings (Supernatural), Castiel's Nickname is Cas (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester is comfortable with his sexuality, Dean winchester is Bi, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Nesting, Nesting Castiel (Supernatural), No Beta, No Smut, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Pining Castiel (Supernatural), flannel, it’s cute, nesting fluff, not a/b/o, pillows, sorry for so many tags, sorry just wanted to make sure that was clear, sort of anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayApril16/pseuds/GayApril16
Summary: When Cas realized he was in love with Dean Winchester, he did nothing about it. Over six months later, Cas gets slammed by Dean’s scent—and that activates instincts that he doesn’t recognize nor knew he had.A note: This is *not* A/B/O, Cas just has a really good sense of smell and angels are weird (not very).
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 236





	Dean’s Scent

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn’t really fall anywhere within Canon timeline nor does it quite match up; I just wrote a thing. They’re in the bunker, Cas doesn’t have his wings anymore/can’t fly with them, Cas is still an angel though, and Cas lives in the bunker and hunts full-time with the boys. 
> 
> It’s not The best thing I’ve ever written but it’s fun.
> 
> There’s some fluff and nothing really hurts. 
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️

It took Cas too many years to realize that he was deeply, utterly in love with Dean Winchester. He had been from almost the very beginning—and he didn’t know whether to chalk up the years of oblivious pining to lack of experience with emotions or to sheer stubbornness and denial. After all, while he may be in love with Dean Winchester, it was obvious that Dean would— _could_ never love him back. Not only was Dean blatantly straight, but he’d stated dozens of times that he thought of Cas as family—as a _brother_. And romantic tendencies were definitely _not_ something that humans felt in regard to their siblings. Not to mention that Dean would obviously want a very physical process to be part of any romantic relationship—one that Cas couldn’t give him. The angel simply didn’t have a desire for sex. So even if Dean did someday love Cas, he would definitely be disappointed. 

There was no hope for Cas where Dean was concerned.

But Cas couldn’t help himself.

The realization hadn’t been a sudden, life-changing moment like human media so often depicted. It’d been gradual, almost soft, as if hesitant to actually be realized in fear that Cas would just shove the issue to the back of his mind again. It’d been moments—little things, like listening to Dean sing horribly along to his cassettes or the radio, or watching how Dean always went the extra mile to make sure that his little brother—though not actually little anymore—got proper food and rest during hunts, or noticing how the tip of Dean’s tongue would rest between his teeth when he’d listen to someone speak. Cas had always noticed these things, but recently he’d been picking up on them more and more frequently. Warmth had blossomed in his chest with each instance, but he hadn’t understood it. Not until he’d been riding shotgun on one of their supply runs, listening to Dean “sing” his heart out to whatever song was playing, golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows from a cloud-specked summer sky. The warmth had spread through him again, and the thought had almost casually crossed Cas’ mind: _I love him._

Cas had been a little startled. He’d reflexively gone to deny it, but the pristine moment was still holding, and he found he couldn’t. There and then, he’d finally admitted to himself that he was wholly and completely in love with Dean Winchester.

The realization in the next moment that Dean would never love him back wasn’t as startling, but it definitely hurt. Cas shoved that pain aside. He wouldn’t wallow; he wouldn’t grieve. The fact that Dean did care for him—even if not romantically—was going to have to be enough. _Was_ enough, because Cas decided so.

So Cas tucked his secret next to his heart and pretended like he’d never discovered it.

*****

Summer went, then fall, and now spring was just around the corner as the remains of winter quite literally melted away. Dean was happy that the roads were finally clear again, and Sam was once again enjoying his morning runs outdoors. The cold hadn’t bothered Cas much but seeing both of the Winchesters in high spirits lifted his mood.

“Let’s take a break,” Dean proclaimed one night, sliding a freshly-cooked burger across the table to his brother as he sat down. 

“A break?” Sam asked, surprised and a bit incredulous. For this to come from _Dean_ was a first.

“We’ve been doin’ hunts nonstop for almost a year,” Dean pointed out. “I think we’ve earned it.”

“Fine by me,” Sam said, taking an uncharacteristically large bite from his burger. Dean smirked, then tucked into his own meal.

Cas watched all of this from his seat next to Sam, nursing a cup of coffee. He supposed that taking a break would be nice, and it would—in theory—be much safer.

******

A week later, Cas was wandering the bunker’s halls. He wasn’t sure why, but once he’d lost his wings it’d become a habit. When Sam and Dean went to bed, he’d walk and think, and it was peaceful.

Cas passed the TV room—the “Dean Cave”, whatever that meant—and glanced in to see Dean sprawled across the couch, fast asleep. The TV was still going, and a half-full bottle of beer was held loosely in one hand—both indicating that Dean hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Cas silently debated whether or not to wake him up. Even if Dean wouldn’t admit it, his back would be “killing him” the next day if he slept the whole night on the couch—but on the other hand, waking Dean up was an unpleasant experience in and of itself. 

Cas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Once he could’ve just flown Dean to his bedroom—or “zapped” him, as Dean had called it—but those days were gone.

Cas had an idea. He stepped into the room, and after what was _definitely_ not minutes of Cas absently watching Dean sleep, Cas gently pressed two fingers against Dean’s forehead. Dean stirred, but before he could wake Cas used the slightest shard of his grace to send the hunter into a deep, calming rest. Cas slipped the bottle out of his hand, then had to glance around the room for a few moments to locate the TV’s remote control. Cas turned the TV off, the room falling silent except for his and Dean’s gentle breaths.

It was a little awkward getting a sturdy grip, but Cas gently lifted Dean into his arms. His hold was somewhere between bridal-style and a fireman's carry, Dean’s forehead resting on Cas’ shoulder. After that it was easy enough to walk to Dean’s room, but setting Dean down gently was a little harder—Cas almost dropped him on the bed, not expecting the memory-foam mattress to sink so much under the knee he’d been bracing himself with. The end result was Cas setting Dean down much rougher than he’d meant to, Cas accidentally knocking his face into Dean’s shoulder and getting a nosefull of Dean’s scent.

Typically, Cas kept his sense of smell turned fairly low—the stenches of blood and rot and a hundred other unpleasant things that he came across as both an angel and a hunter were both repulsive and distracting—but since they’d started their break Cas had returned it to full sensitivity, wanting to enjoy the smells of the bunker and Dean baking and the world “waking up” outside. Unlike his sense of taste, which was practically nonexistent as an angel, his grace merely enhanced his sense of smell—and the angelic enhancement, along with not being used to smelling at full capacity, meant that Cas was suddenly overwhelmed by Dean’s scent. He smelled absolutely _wonderful_ —like leather and hamburger patties and beer and faintly like metal and overall just so much like _Dean_ that Cas froze, stunned. He’d naturally pulled away after setting Dean down and was now halfway between kneeling on his bed and standing, fighting the impulse to lean down so he could smell Dean again.

Cas growled, tearing himself away. Even as he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him, he was berating himself. Dean already thought that Cas merely _watching_ him while he slept was creepy, and while Cas couldn’t think of a word that fit the next level, that was definitely what literally _smelling_ Dean would be—not to mention in order to do so Cas would be majorly invading Dean’s personal space, which was another rule that the hunter had laid out.

So Cas grit his teeth and walked away from the door, his trench coat flapping slightly against his legs. Back to his endless wandering of the hallways, Cas wondered why he wanted to actually _smell_ Dean. The only answer that Cas could come up with was that he enjoyed his scent, but Cas had technically smelled Dean many times before—during hugs and when Cas turned his nose back on to identify substances and such. He’d never reacted like _this_ —like Dean’s smell was some type of intoxicating drug. Not that his smell was actually intoxicating, but he’d smelled _so good_ —like home and safety and sunny days and everything that made Cas happy. 

Cas carded a hand through his hair, paying no heed to the fact that the motion made it stick out in every direction. Before, Dean had simply smelled _human_ —a distinguishable musk, but no more so than any other creature Cas had ever come across.

Cas was pulled out of his thoughts by the shining 11 that labeled the door in front of him. 

He’d circled back to Dean’s room. 

Silently, Cas swore. This was absolutely ridiculous—he was a _soldier_ , a _warrior_ , even if not really an angel of the lord anymore. And now he was getting worked up over a simple _smell_?

Cas stalked away from Dean’s room, paying attention so as to avoid that particular hallway entirely. The bunker was plenty big enough for him to still have more than enough space to wander. 

Eventually Cas returned to the “Dean-Cave”, intending to clean up whatever mess was leftover to distract himself from his looping thoughts. There wasn’t much, just a couple of beer bottles and a plaid blanket that was spread haphazardly across the couch, pressed flush against the cushions where Dean had been laying on it. Cas threw away the bottles, then started folding the blanket.

Cas only made one fold before he froze. Silently he cursed himself for not thinking to turn his sense of smell back down, because now he could smell Dean’s scent on the blanket—and it was just as wonderful as before.

For a moment, Cas resisted—but there weren't any rules about personal space or creepiness here. It was just a blanket, and Cas was alone. 

He gave in. Bundling the blanket together, he buried his face in the soft material, breathing deeply. If Cas hadn’t actually had history with heaven he would have described Dean’s scent as _heavenly_ —it was the closest word the humans had. Well, in English, anyway, but Cas wasn’t really trying to find the word that fit. He was too lost in leather and burgers and beer and _Dean_ , even though he wasn’t really here. The blanket didn’t smell as strongly of Dean as Dean did—for obvious reasons—but it was strong enough. The smell was sending tingles through Cas’ body and grace, calming him; it was the smell of safety, of _home_. 

Of _Dean_.

Eventually Cas realized that he’d been standing and smelling a blanket for over an hour, and jerkily he pulled the material away from his face. Immediately there was the impulse to smell it again, but Cas simply folded it, definitely not gritting his teeth the entire time. He went to bring it to the laundry room—there was a little beer that had been spilled on the very edge of one corner—but he ended up in his own bedroom, the blanket still in his arms.

Cas’ room looked almost exactly as it had when he’d moved in. It wasn’t as if he actually had many possessions, after all—a spare change of outfit and a few rarer ingredients for spell work was all he owned. It was all practical, he’d never _wanted_ anything before—

—but he wanted now. He _wanted_ the blanket he was holding. Very badly.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Cas repeated in his head. But soon enough he found himself curled in his bed, his nose pressed against the blanket that was wrapped around his arms. Dean’s scent really was the best thing he’d ever smelled.

As Cas took in a particularly deep breath, a chord struck in him—in his body, in his grace, in his mind—and the reverberations made him shiver for a moment. Something clicked in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t sure what.

Cas took another deep breath, and when nothing happened, he settled, pushing any worry he had away for later. Once Sam and Dean woke up he’d have to remove himself from this frankly _ridiculous_ situation and return to normal life.

*****

Unfortunately, life gradually stopped being normal for Cas.

He didn’t _mean_ to do it. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even _choose_ to—it just _happened_. It started with a flannel that Dean had left over the back of one of the chairs in the library. Cas had walked past it, fully intending to fetch a book from the other side of the library, but when his nose had caught a whiff of Dean’s scent he slowed. Turned. Grabbed the flannel and lifted it up to his face, sighing in content when Dean’s smell flooded through his system. Within seconds he regained his self control, jerking his arms away, but as fully as he meant to set the shirt back down he found he couldn’t. The cloth felt wonderfully soft in his fingers, and before Cas could even register what he was doing he was in his bedroom, tucking the flannel into the same drawer where he’d hidden the blanket. As soon as the drawer was closed Cas straightened, staring at it, the trance broken.

 _What the—_ Cas mentally ran down a list of everything that could possibly be affecting him, checking for each, but hit a dead end. It wasn’t a curse, it wasn’t angels messing with his head again, it wasn’t _anything_ —as a matter of fact, it seemed to be coming from _Cas_.

 _Instincts_ , his mind supplied helpfully. Cas was having basal, primal instincts, and he was _obeying_ them. Didn’t have a choice not to, really—how do you fight against what your very nature tells you to do?

Instantly, a flash of fear tore through Cas. He sat down on his bed, running a hand down his face. Angels didn’t _have_ instincts—at least, not any instincts that were for anything but fighting. Top of that list was ‘obey’—but those instincts were so much weaker, easy to overrule with practice. These— _whatever_ instincts Cas was feeling were strong. Very strong. He doubted he could resist, and—and he didn’t want to. As horrified as he was at his unorthodox behavior, every time it happened it just felt _right_.

It kept happening—a flannel here, a pillow there, anything that was soft and smelled of Dean ended up in the drawer in his bedroom. With every occurrence Cas fought a little less—the rush of pleasure, of pure _satisfaction_ just felt so _right_. 

Eventually he gave in completely.

Cas had collected a few blankets, a couple pillows and several of Dean’s shirts before Dean finally noticed that things were disappearing.

Cas was reading a mythology book in Ancient Greek in the library when Dean hollered, “Sam!” Cas could pinpoint him as being in his bedroom. “Have you seen my flannel?”

Cas stiffened, his heart pounding. 

“Which one?” Sam yelled back from the kitchen.

“The blue one.”

Cas didn’t listen to the rest, darting to his bedroom. He locked the door behind him with a little more force than needed but didn’t notice. 

Cas should tell Dean that he’d taken the shirts—but the very thought set off about a thousand warning bells in his mind. Dean _couldn’t_ know—not now—not yet—and Cas was scrambling for the items he’d collected, gathering the softness that smelled like Dean in his arms. He had to find somewhere secret, somewhere safe. Then the perfect spot occurred to him, and with his arms full he was hurrying through the halls, staying well away from Sam and Dean. A right, a left, another right, then into the old, rather large and dusty janitorial closet that hid a rickety spiral staircase in its back corner. Cas was up that staircase in a flash, pushing up the trapdoor and stepping into the room. 

It had probably been a lookout room, small, rectangular windows studding each of the five walls—one apiece—in a sort of pattern. Sigils were carved into the edges of the glass, as well as the window frames. The walls and floor were polished wood and in beautiful condition—probably thanks to the wardings—and gave the entire room a warm, almost golden atmosphere. And the best part was that it was completely hidden—the entire room, which was balanced on top of the rest of the bunker, was invisible from the outside. Cas hadn’t even known it’d existed until he’d come across the staircase during one of his nightly wanderings, and he doubted that Sam or Dean knew about it. 

Cas softly dropped the trapdoor—which was almost against one of the walls—closed, then set everything down in the center of the room. He fidgeted with them, arranging the blankets and pillows in a vaguely bed-like shape, Dean’s flannels around the edges. 

After a few moments, Cas frowned. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t _nearly_ enough—he needed more. A lot more.

*****

Every time that Cas left his hideaway, he took whatever he could find—the only requirements being that it was soft and smelled like Dean. The smaller things—washcloths, balls of socks—he could slip into his coat, but the larger things like shirts and blankets and pillows he had to wait to grab until Sam and Dean were asleep. 

After about a week, Cas stopped interacting with the Winchesters entirely. Pretending to be normal around them had gotten increasingly difficult as Cas’ instinctual responses to things got stronger, to the point where Cas couldn’t track a thing either of them said without getting distracted by the need to find something else. So he retreated to his hideaway, only emerging to gather more. Grateful for the training that taught him how to move quietly, he took what he needed without either of the brothers seeing him. It went much faster now that he could focus solely on his task, and after just two days his steadily-growing collection had swelled to an impressive size. He got the sense that he was finished, which was good—he’d taken practically everything at this point.

Cas stepped back, practically standing on the trapdoor to admire his handiwork. He had absolutely no idea what what he was looking at actually _was_ , but building it had given him immense satisfaction. Shirts and blankets and soft towels were woven in a sort of series of braids, circling a level mound of pillows and sheets and smaller items. It almost looked like a bowl, though the “walls” weren’t quite so high so as to be proportionate to one. It was big enough that two full-grown humans could lay down in it, if they pressed close to each other.

Cas blinked, the almost sudden release of the need to gather and build startling him back to his senses. For the first time in what felt like weeks his mind cleared.

Softly, Cas groaned. As right as it felt, this was going to be a disaster to remedy with Sam and Dean. Even now he could distantly hear them talking—shouting, really—about the vanished items. So far Cas hadn’t heard his name drop, so he didn’t think they suspected it was him. 

Something in Cas’ chest curled in on itself. Had Sam and Dean even _noticed_ that he’d been gone? It’d been over forty-eight hours since he’d seen either of them, which was usually more than enough time to notice anything amiss.

As Sam and Dean kept talking about sheets and shirts and towels, Cas’ shoulders drooped. They really _hadn’t_ noticed.

Suddenly the softness of the structure in front of him seemed very appealing—as did Dean’s scent, which clung to every item it was built out of. 

Cas took barely a moment to decide, removing his shoes, trench coat, suit jacket and tie and dropping them on the ground before climbing into the structure. He settled on the pillows, curling into the fetal position as he breathed deeply. The smell of Dean soothed him, prompting his muscles to relax and his breathing to even. After several minutes Cas closed his eyes, then the angel slipped into a dreamless sleep.

*****

“Cas?” the voice was soft, almost hesitant. Cas stirred, not sure where he was or what was happening. Dean’s voice was familiar as day—had Cas been knocked out on a hunt? But that couldn’t be correct, because they were taking a brea—

Cas remembered. He shot upright, his eyes going wide as he saw Dean standing just outside of the thing Cas had built. Had built with all of _Dean’s_ stuff, plus things that had been designated for use by everyone that Cas had taken after Dean used, like some of the pillows and blankets. Dean’s eyes were tracing every individual item, his eyebrows rising higher and higher as he recognized each of them.

Mortified, Cas scrambled back against the wall of the structure. Dean had found him—which for some reason wasn’t nearly as bad as _Sam_ finding him would have been, but Cas was still startled. The rational, logical part of him that had all but vanished over the last few weeks returned in force. Cas felt his cheeks heat and resisted the temptation to hide his face in his hands. He was a _warrior_ , for father’s sake! He’d fought—and _killed_ —everything from demons to vamps to other angels.

And yet he’d stolen soft things that smelled like the human he was in love with and built some type of bed with them. On _instinct_.

“Cas . . .” Dean sounded completely and utterly lost. Late afternoon light was slanting through two of the windows, covering the room in shades of gold. “Uh . . . What—what is this?”

“I . . . don’t know,” Cas hesitantly admitted.

Somehow, Dean’s eyebrows went even higher. “You _don’t know_?” he parroted. “How can you not know?”

Cas shrugged helplessly, silently begging for Dean to be patient with him. “It just sort of . . . happened.”

“What, you just suddenly got the urge to steal my stuff and make _this_?” He was starting to sound angry now, sharply gesturing at the braided cloth.

Cas looked away, still sitting against the back of the structure. Quietly, he mumbled, “More or less.”

Dean froze, deflating a little. That was obviously not the response he’d expected to get. His voice softer, he ventured, “So you did this on impulse?”

“Instinct,” Cas corrected. 

“Instinct? Like, _instinctive_ instinct?”

Cas would have snorted at the Winchester LogicTM if he wasn’t so anxious. It was a very human emotion, anxiety. It was probably the least favorite of all of the emotions Cas had somehow adopted, tightening his chest and sitting like a weight in his gut. The worst part was that he wasn’t even sure what exactly was causing it—it could’ve been a dozen different things, from the fact that he was having instincts he’d never heard of to the fact that Dean had found him. No, not that last one—Cas was _glad_ that Dean was here. Which just confused him further.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” Cas said, stumbling over his words the slightest. “It’s just _there_ , and it’s filling me, and after it first appeared it’s as if building _this_ was the most important thing in the world. Because I _needed_ to.” The explanation sounded ridiculous, but putting words to what he was feeling was difficult—just as it’d always been.

Cas chanced a glance at Dean’s face. Dean gazed back, his expression firm but not cold.

“So an angel thing, then,” Dean said.

“I . . . don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“What, other angels don’t build nests?”

Cas tilted his head, startled. “Nest?”

It was Dean’s turn to sound confused. “That’s . . . what this is, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” Cas looked at the structure, realizing that it did fit the description of ‘nest’ well—round and cupped and comfortable. “I suppose. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You hadn’t—hold up, are you saying you didn’t know what you were making?” Dean asked, glancing down at the nest.

“. . . Yes.”

A pause. Then, “Why did you make it?”

Cas shook his head. “I’d like to know that too.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. Then he made a motion that Cas didn’t understand at the nest. “Can I . . . ?”

It took a moment, then Cas nodded.

Dean kicked off his shoes, then carefully stepped into the nest. He sat down cross-legged against the wall opposite Cas, watching the angel for any sign that he was doing something wrong.

Cas had felt a little thrill when Dean had asked to come in, and now every nerve was tingling in anticipation. Of _what_ , exactly, he didn’t have any idea.

“Why is it all my stuff?” Dean asked abruptly, looking at the walls of the nest. “I mean, even what’s not mine is the stuff that I used.” _That I was surprised to find missing_ was left unsaid, but Cas heard it anyways. He looked down guiltily. 

“It’s soft,” Cas hedged, not wanting to give the real answer.

“Well, yeah, but Sam’s got soft stuff too—maybe even softer stuff. But it’s all mine.” He was obviously expecting an answer, letting the silence stretch as he waited for Cas to fill it.

Cas shifted, heat flaming his cheeks again. He couldn’t think of a lie that would fit, so finally he mumbled, “They smell like you.” 

Dean had to lean forward to hear the words, but once they fully registered he choked in surprise, blanching. “ _What?_ ”

If Cas’ face had been hot before, it was on fire now. “Nothing—I’m sorry—” he stammered, desperate to save the relationship that he’d obviously just broken.

“Woah, Cas, you’re okay,” Dean said, leaning forward to grab Cas’ hands. Cas’ stammering cut off at the contact. For a long moment Dean just looked at him, his green eyes unreadable.

Dean licked his lips, then spoke, carefully choosing his words. “Are you saying that you’re . . . _attracted_ to how I smell?”

“. . . Not _attracted_ , exactly—but I like it. A lot. You smell like everything good.” Seeing that Dean was confused, Cas ducked his head. “I don’t get _attracted_ to things. Not like humans—or other angels, even—often do. Not like that.”

Understanding dawned on Dean’s face. “You’re saying you’re ace—asexual,” he clarified. 

Surprised, Cas digested the new term. “That seems accurate.”

Silence held for a tense moment. Then Dean asked, “What about romance?”

Immediately Cas looked away. He was probably setting a new record for how much an angel could blush, but he couldn’t help it. He was surrounded by Dean’s scent, and actually _with_ Dean himself—and something in his chest was prodding at him, urging him to move. More instincts, but Cas was too afraid to do anything to satisfy them.

 _Dean doesn’t love me!_ he reminded himself. But it was so, so hard to remember.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean said in a tone that told the angel that the hunter had said it more than once. Dean gently squeezed Cas’ hands, rubbing circles on the backs of them with his thumbs, and Cas turned his head towards him just a bit to show that he was listening. “Cas, look at me,” he asked gently. “Please?”

Cas braced himself, then looked up at Dean—and froze. He’d been expecting—well, he didn’t know _what_ he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the pure fondness and adoration that was written across Dean’s face. 

With a small, real smile, Dean pulled Cas forward a little, gently pressing a kiss to Cas’ forehead. Cas’ brain short-circuited, his mess of thoughts fizzling to nothing.

After a long moment, Dean pulled away—and this time there was doubt and fear in his eyes. He was wondering if he was wrong, Cas realized. 

Without another thought, Cas surged forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s. The hunter made a sound of surprise before melting into the kiss, one of his hands coming up to twist through Cas’ hair.

Eventually Dean pulled away, studying the angel in his arms. “I didn’t think aces liked that kind of thing,” he said, panting slightly. They’d held the kiss for a long time.

“I don’t know about humans, but I like it,” Cas replied with a gentle smile. “It’s just not . . .” He hesitated, trying to find the right word.

“Sexual,” Dean finished for him. 

After a moment of simply studying each other, Cas stiffened. “Wait—but you like women!” he blurted.

Dean shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I do, but you’re my angel. It took me years to admit it, but I like you, too. _Much_ more than anyone else.”

Cas smiled. _Really_ smiled—probably the biggest smile in his life. Then pulled Dean in for a hug, contentedly burrowing his face in Dean’s shoulder. He felt his warmth, the wonderful presence of Dean—both body and soul—and his scent tied it all together. Cas felt complete in a way that he’d never experienced before and he never wanted to stop feeling it.

After a several minutes—perhaps even an hour, Cas wasn’t keeping track—Dean snickered. “Since this is a nest, does that make me your mate?”

Cas poked the small of his back. “Shut up,” he grumbled, amused.

“No literal mating, though,” Dean thought out loud. He sounded contemplative, instead of disappointed like Cas had expected.

Cas snuggled closer. “No mating,” he agreed.

He could almost feel Dean’s smile. “Fine by me. I just want _you_.”

Cas smiled into Dean’s shoulder. _This_ was what he’d been preparing for—he just hadn’t known it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed by leaving a comment/kudos! ❤️
> 
> I am also continuing this story, probably with only one more (time stamp) fic about the same length. Make sure to come check that out once it’s done if you enjoyed!


End file.
